


A Simple Thing

by quixotixx



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, historical accuracy means nothing at this point so suspend your disbelief please, the role swap fic that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotixx/pseuds/quixotixx
Summary: The loud crack of a backfiring truck echoes across the square. It’s not an uncommon sound to hear in the city, but the startled cry that follows it, accompanied by the dull thump of someone hitting the snow covered ground, is what pulls her from her irritated thoughts.





	A Simple Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I've had an idea for this fic lingering in the back of my head for the longest time now, and I finally managed to get myself to sit down and write it. I know it's not very historically correct, but considering the subject matter, I think I can be forgiven for that. XD
> 
> I'm still new to writing these two, but I love them too much to not try. I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> ~*~

The square was nothing remarkable. Spring was nearing, but the cold was still harsh, and few people were out and about unless they needed to be. Anya pulls her coat tighter around herself, eyes roaming around listlessly as she watches street sweepers and vendors hurry to and fro. Her daily patrol is an uneventful one, aside from the occasional instance that she has to chase that Dmitry boy away from the area. 

 

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she tries not to pout.  She tells herself that patrol is merely par the course of the job, that all officers are given an area to watch over. But her little corner of the world is so mind-numbingly boring so much of the time, she has to wonder if the men higher up have sent her here to get her out of the way for a while. She’s worked too hard to get to her position, and so help her, she is not going to let that be ruined by a group of pig-headed, self-aggrandizing, rude-

 

The loud crack of a backfiring truck echoes across the square. It’s not an uncommon sound to hear in the city, but the startled cry that follows it, accompanied by the dull thump of someone hitting the snow covered ground, is what pulls her from her irritated thoughts. Anya turns sharply towards the noise, eyes flicking about over the small crowd, before finally settling on the huddled figure of a man. One of the sweepers. He’s curled up with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped protectively over his head. Anya realises what he must have mistaken the sound of the truck for, and sympathy for him pulls at her heart. 

 

She approaches him slowly, bending at the knees slightly to ensure he can hear her.

 

“It was a truck backfiring, comrade,” she says, reaching out and squeezing one of his arms gently. She waits as he sits up hesitantly, and when he finally looks at her, she gives him a smile that she hopes seems friendly.

 

His brown eyes search her face, squinting as though there’s something there he recognises. He seems lost in his slightly too big coat, still trembling from the shock, and part of Anya wants to pet his soft, dark hair. She’s overwhelmed by the sudden need to soothe him. 

 

“That’s all it was,” she murmurs. “A truck. Those days are over, neighbour-against-neighbour.”

 

She grabs his fallen broom from the ground, and uses her grip on his arm to pull him to his feet. She hands it back to him, and he takes it mechanically, eyes still on her face. She stares back, feeling a smile tugging at her mouth again, and looks down to his hands to distract herself.

 

“You’re shaking.” 

 

The street sweeper starts, looking down at his hands as though surprised, then ducking his head in what seems like embarrassment. Anya sighs, then turns to point down the path behind her.

 

“There’s a tea shop just a few steps from here. Please, let me-”

 

He suddenly moves to push past her, with a rushed _ “thank you” _ . Anya grabs the broom, pulling him back, and is surprised when he lets it happen. He’s clearly not too well-fed, but he’s far from short. He towers several inches over her. He could have pulled from her grasp and been gone with ease. 

 

Watching the way his wide eyes look slowly over her, she can’t help but wonder if perhaps a part of him  _ wanted  _ to be caught. 

 

“What’s your hurry?” There’s an edge to her voice, and she delights in the small shiver she sees run through him.  

 

“...I-I can’t lose this job,” he stutters. “They’re not easy to come by.”

 

She stares him down a moment longer, before releasing him. He ducks his head again, and hurries off. He makes it to the corner of the street, before pausing, then turns to give her a shy, appreciative smile. She grins back, cupping her hands around her mouth to call to him.

 

“I’m here everyday!”

 

His face flushes a delightful pink, and then he disappears around the corner. She buries her nose into the collar of her coat and giggles quietly. 

 

Perhaps patrol wouldn’t be quite so boring anymore. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s not long until she sees her not-so-little street sweeper again, though it is under less than ideal circumstances.

 

She’s facing the large back window of her office, looking out over the square below, when the door opens. She hears someone bark “ _ in!” _ , followed by slow footsteps that echo in the wide room as they approach. This must be the troublemaker she’s been hearing about, the one the two con-men had taken a liking to. She takes a deep breath through her nose, starting in to her practiced speech about hard-working citizens, and is stopped short when she turns to see her guest.

 

He stands in front of her desk much like he had the last time she saw him, shoulders hunched in his jacket, head turned slightly to the floor. His eyes are focused on her, though they flicker briefly to his feet as he flinches at her sharp turn. A noise that’s as much a laugh as it is a gasp escapes her, her hands dropping to her sides in shock. 

 

“The frightened street sweeper!”

 

That same pink fills his cheeks, but his shoulders relax slightly. She smiles at him, rounding the desk to stand in front of him. 

 

“Gleb, I believe?”

 

He nods, curls bouncing, and Anya is overcome with a desire to take them in her hand and pull. Instead, she holds her hand out for him to shake.

 

“I’m Deputy Commissioner Anya Romanov.”

 

Gleb looks down at her hand, but doesn’t take it, and she huffs awkwardly. 

 

“I know the uniform and office must seem a little intimidating. Really, I’m not so bad.”

 

This draws a shy smile from him, and Anya feels warmth in her chest at the sight of it. She gestures to one of the chairs behind her, waiting until he sits, then making her way back across the office to a small desk with a teapot atop it. She can feel his eyes on her back as she fills two cups. 

 

“I was beginning to think I might never see you again,” she announces, holding one of the cups out to him. He holds it tight, seeming to enjoy the warmth of the porcelain, and she is again struck by a pang of sympathy. “What is it that you’ve been up to?”

 

Gleb stares up at her as she stands over him, biting his lip nervously. Her eyes watch the movement closely. 

 

“Nothing.” His fingers shift nervously around his cup. “Just… Working.”

 

“‘Just working’? That’s funny. I’ve been receiving reports of a certain tall, dark street sweeper being spotted hanging around with two… less than pleasant characters. Dmitry and one Vlad Popov, I believe.”

 

He’s shifting in his seat like a scolded child. She almost wants to say nothing and enjoy watching him squirm. Instead, she bites her lip hard to fight the smile she feels coming. Now isn’t the time for such unprofessional thoughts. 

 

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Gleb?”

 

“No, nothing.” He takes a long sip of his tea, eyes on everything in the room but her. 

 

Anya hums disbelievingly.

 

“I want to believe you, Gleb. But you have to understand, there are certain rumours that I just can’t afford to let slip by unchecked. All this talk of lost princes and imposters claiming to be him, and now all this about Popov and Dmitry, their little ‘auditions’... surely you must see why I have some concerns?”

 

Gleb is silent. She waits, but he doesn’t seem very keen on speaking. 

 

Anya sighs, placing her now lukewarm cup of tea down on the desk and crossing her arms.

 

“Gleb…”

 

“Why was I brought here?” he demands, and she’s taken aback by his sudden confidence. She holds her hands up placatingly.

 

“I just want to make sure you aren’t getting mixed up with the wrong crowd. You seem like a good man, and a hard worker. You wouldn’t want one foolish decision to ruin that, would you?”

 

He’s silent again, and this time she hooks two fingers under his chin, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. 

 

“ _ Would you, _ Gleb?”

 

He swallows, lips parted slightly. His warm eyes seem to go hazy, and it makes her body hum with an intimate heat.   

 

“...no, ma’am,” he mutters, and it’s her turn to shiver at how low his voice is. She pulls her hand away slowly, her stomach twisting when he tilts forward slightly, as though he’s trying to follow her touch. 

 

Anya clears her throat, and Gleb startles. He comes back to himself, and she looks away as his face flushes a darling red. 

 

“You’re free to go.” She steps back, watching him stand and make his way to the door without a word. 

 

He’s halfway out the door when she calls to him.

 

“And Gleb?”

 

This time he meets her eyes without fear, brow furrowed and mouth drawn into a thin line. 

 

“...be smart out there, alright?”

 

Her fingers curl into tight fists when he smirks at her, teeth flashing.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

  
  
  
  
  


It’s later that night, as she lies in bed, that she realises how familiar his eyes are. Her mind is suddenly flooded with memories of a young boy, tall and proud, eyes alight with something she couldn’t name, as soldiers closed the gates behind him and his family, and she sits up in bed gasping and clutching at her chest. 

  
“ _ Gleb… _ ” she whispers to no one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. ♡


End file.
